


Paul McCartney: SUBstitute Teacher

by requestables (orphan_account), SomeWeirdBiBoy (orphan_account)



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Paul, It's college so John is of age, M/M, Paul's the substitute at John's college, Rimming, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top John, Wall Sex, and well John fucks him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21123272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/requestables, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SomeWeirdBiBoy
Summary: Paul McCartney is the new teacher at John Lennon's college, and John instantly takes a liking to him. Or, well, a lust.





	1. Paul gets fucked

John Lennon sauntered into his classroom with a wide smirk and messy hair. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his finger and cleaned it on his jacket - this happened all the time. A younger boy walked into the classroom behind him, Stuart Sutcliffe, and the other students put two and two together - of course Stu had been blowing John. John was the one who could make anybody drop to their knees for him, and he knew it.

The first thing he noticed was that their usual teacher wasn’t in, which meant they had a cover teacher, and once he spotted him, he could not stop looking. Their teacher was fucking adorable, and John could not wait to have fun with him, whether it be sexual or to just break him. Fun, either way.

He also noticed that their teacher for today (and hopefully longer) had a very nice ass, and honestly, that’s all John could focus (other than his body in general, because fuck, he looked so feminime) on before he decided to actually look up at his face - his features were soft and innocent. He looked innocent in a way of ‘you can’t be that innocent if you’re bending over the desk for me and begging for me to fuck you’ - he wanted to say that later, because he knew this teacher wouldn’t turn him down. 

He could just  _ tell. _

He put his feet up on the desk and sighed to himself, wishing the lesson wouldn’t last so long - it was the last lesson of the day, which meant he could stay after, with this teacher. Said teacher was now clearing his throat and standing up from the desk, “Hi, I’m Paul McCartney! I don’t really care what you call me.”

“What about Macca?” John called out deviously, watching as Paul blushed a deep red, blinking at him a few times. Then he flinched slightly, something that only John noticed - why, though? Why would he flinch? He either hated the name or loved it a little too much, and John was eager to find out which one it was - he’d call him Macca the whole lesson.

“Fine,” Paul said eventually, a small stutter forming in his words.  _ Adorable. _

Richard Starkey, John’s best friend, looked over at John and whispered, “Aye, that teacher’s kinda cute, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s probably the sensitive type, more fun that way,” John replied with a smirk.

“Ok I’m going to take register now, please say ‘here’ when I say your name,” Paul alerted the class, making it sound more like a request rather than a demand. John noticed this and continued to smirk, knowing exactly how to intimidate people - this would be easy.

So, so easy.

Paul began calling out names and people began replying, which made him feel at ease for the first time he’d gotten there - the students that he taught were usually assholes but these ones seemed…  _ okay.  _

“Bob Dylan,” He called out and received no reply, sighing to himself, “Does anybody know where he is?” He asked and waited for a response. Of course it was John who gave him a reply, “Probably gettin’ high somewhere in the school, or suckin’ somebody’s dick.”

“Fuck,” Paul cursed quietly, but carried on with the register as he had been before, calling out names and getting responses.

“John Lennon.”

“Here, Macca,” His voice was filled with humour and his feet were  _ still  _ up on the table, shoes tapping lightly, everything about him annoyed Paul yet also enticed him immensely - no matter how fucking irritating he was, Paul could not stop himself from wanting  _ more.  _

“Richard Starkey,” There was no response for a minute, and then the student finally spoke.

“Here, luv,” Paul rolled his eyes discreetly.

“George Harrison.”

“Hi.”

“Stuart Sutcliffe,” He called out, and received a response, a soft ‘here’ and he was once again at ease. The register ended quickly, leaving Paul with only the lesson to teach and a bunch of students to stop from making the classroom fall into a bottomless abyss. Or something like that - everything always ended in chaos, seemingly only when he was teaching.

The lesson went better than he expected, better than he ever thought it would - aside from John and Richard talking throughout almost all of it and paper being thrown - it went fairly swell.

“‘Ey, Macca?” John yelled out, taking his feet down off of his desk and walking up to where Paul was sat, going through something on his laptop, “Macca?” He said again, placing his hands down on the table. Paul looked up at him with those fucking doe-eyes, the ones that made John want to stare into them forever and never look away - seriously, they were beautiful. Paul made a small noise that resembled a soft ‘huh?’, gazing up at him.

“So, after class,” John spoke quietly and with a deeper voice, making Paul shudder with unexpected pleasure, “I’m going to stay behind, and you, you’re going to bend over the desk for me and let me fuck you, ‘kay?” His voice became husky and well-rounded, keeping it away from the ears of others that may hear. Paul blushed a deep red once more and looked down at the desk again, flustered and, more than anything, anticipated. He couldn’t wait.

“I said - _Macca _- okay?”

“Y-yeah, okay.” Paul finally said through his shock, voice sounding the complete opposite of John’s - it was higher in pitch and slightly squeaky, an element of lust lining it, making him sound needy. He wanted it so bad. John smirked again before walking back to his desk and sitting back down, feet back on the table - tapping and tapping and tapping.

And then Bob Dylan walked in, hair messy and lips bruised -  _ sucking dick,  _ Paul mused, realising that John had been right about where he was. “Aye, lad, who was it this time?” Richard said to him as he sauntered to his desk slowly, looking up at him with a knowing look in his eyes.

“I don’t know, man, looked a lot like Johnny Cash, but I’m not too sure,” Bob sighed to himself, “My throat hurts.” And it probably did, his voice sounded gravelly and sore - like he’d, y’know, had a dick in there.

Then he looked to the front of the class, eyes landing on Paul, who was stood up and writing something about historic dates on the board - something that nobody really cared about and didn’t bother to read - and he also smirked, unintentionally mirroring John’s. He looked him up and down, “Now, I know I’m a bottom, but… he’s a cute thing, isn’t he?” He carried on watching the older, ignoring John glaring daggers at him - he could tell John was jealous, and that just made it funnier.

“Fuckin’ queer!” Somebody shouted from the back and Richard, George, John  _ and  _ Bob turned around, looking at all the students to see who it was - who were they even talking about? They had no idea, it could have been any of them - it could have just been shouted at nobody in particular. People did shout random things during class, it was a usual occurrence. 

“Who said that?” John asked viciously, “Whoever it was, you’re not exactly wrong, but don’t be a fucking asshole about it. Yes, we’re queer, big fuckin’ deal!”

“Disgusting fags,” The person said, and- oh, it was  _ him.  _ It was Pete Best, obviously - John was annoyed he didn't realise sooner. 

"Aye, well you can't say much, can you, mate?" 

"Oh fuck off, you daft cunt. You're disgusting," Pete picked up his rubber and threw it across the classroom, almost hitting John but missing considerably (which he only realised after it had hit the ground - it was so much further away than he'd realised) and John merely laughed. He left his seat to pick it up and placed it in his pocket. 

"Thanks for the rubber," He said. 

Pete rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was doing. 

The class ended quickly after that, mostly filled with John and Pete arguing back and forth - about stupid things, like the  _ rubber  _ and that Pete was secretly queer too, otherwise he wouldn't be so insecure about it. 

Everybody left the classroom, leaving John and Paul alone together. Paul glanced at John as he packed up his things, quickly gathering them up into his arms and attempting to leave the classroom, only to be stopped by John. 

"Where you goin', Macca? Did you forget about what we agreed?" John asked roughly, wanting nothing more than to turn Paul around and kiss him, but he refrained with much difficulty. 

If he didn't want to, they obviously wouldn't fuck, John wouldn't force him. But, something about Paul made John think he  _ did  _ want to, and would have no real opposition to it.

Paul turned to him and cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, I- uh- haven't done this before," He started, and then realised how that had come across, "Like  _ this _ , I mean." A blush adorned his cheeks, even his ears, and he looked down at his shoes like they were the most interesting things in the universe. Anything was better than looking into John's eyes - he felt embarrassed, slightly shocked and extremely turned on, though he tried to hide it. 

"Neither have I. Think I've fucked a teacher before?" John chuckled deeply and took one of Paul's hands in his, pulling him back over to the desk. Their lips met suddenly, crashing into one another's as they shared a kiss, moving in sync - Paul happily parted his lips to let John's tongue slide between them and into his mouth, causing him to let out a muffled moan. 

As they kissed, John idly moved some of the items on the desk away to the side to make space for Paul, before hoisting Paul up and sitting him down on the desk. They pulled apart for air but less than a minute later had gone back to making out, John between Paul's thighs and hands gripping his hips. Paul's arms were loosely wrapped around his neck, their bodies practically pressed together now. 

"I have- I have lube," Paul moaned breathing as the two pulled apart, a line of saliva still connecting them - it should have been disgusting, having to wipe that away, but it wasn't. The older opened the small draw on the right side of the desk and pulled out a small bottle of lube, giving it to John with shaky hands. 

"Why do you have lube on you? Naughty."

"Reasons."

John grinded down against Paul through their clothes and then pulled back completely, giving the older one last kiss before he spun him around. "Take off everything apart from your shirt," John demanded, taking off his own clothes as he spoke. Paul quickly obeyed and soon the two were naked from the waist down, breathily slightly heavily but not too much to attract attention from people outside the classroom - John thought about the situation.

This substitute teacher - his fucking  _ college teacher  _ for the next couple weeks, possibly longer (John hoped; he really did) - was fully hard, almost-fully naked and definitely completely at his mercy; the power John held made him laugh - almost. He held in the long, loud laugh he would let out in another situation and tried to focus on the beautiful man in front of him, pleading him with his eyes, waiting for what would happen next - John had complete control in this unfamiliar situation, something that didn’t happen a lot. He usually found it hard to gain control in situations weird or strange to him - this one was certainly of those aspects; weird and strange. A good weird, a good strange, however, so maybe that was why it was much easier for him to grasp.

Paul’s legs were visibly shaking as he stood still, hands resting on the desk behind him. John pulled him forward so their chests were pushed together, although clothed, and kissed him harshly once more, before pulling away. In a few seconds, he had spun Paul around, pushed him against the desk and had him bending over it - this shocked the older immensely, the sudden movement made his head spin and his legs tremble even more. But now he could lean on something rather than standing upright, which was a relief. 

"Now, are you ready?" John leaned down and whispered in Paul's ear, kissing the skin behind his ear softly. Paul shuddered and nodded.

“Y-yes,” Paul shuddered again, “Yes.” 

He moaned as a finger slid inside him, cold with lube and long enough to draw out that moan longer than it needed to be - there was still a discomfort present but after all, he knew it would be completely gone soon. A minute passed and Paul found himself pushing back against his finger and silently hoping for another, hoping that John would just  _ fucking get on with it and add more,  _ and he did, another was added. He wanted to bring his hand down to his leaking cock and fervently jerk himself off until he came, but he wanted to be fucked first. Maybe he could come from  _ just  _ that.

The two fingers inside him were sliding in and out with ease, drawing prolonged moans and noises that Paul didn’t know he could make from him. 

“You want more, Paul? Huh?” John spoke suddenly, voice filled with lust for the older man as his free hand gripped onto Paul’s hip, nails digging into the skin painfully.

Paul hissed, “Yes, yes! Please, Johnny, fuck,” He rocked his hips back again, showing John just how eager he really was at that moment. He wanted it -  _ fuck,  _ he really wanted it, and who was John to say no? Paul whined in pleasure, desperately wanting more of John, wanting more of John  _ inside of him _ when suddenly a thought crossed Paul’s mind -  _ anyone could walk in and see them, together, John inside him.  _

He didn’t care, was the answer - he really fucking didn’t.

Then John added a  _ third  _ finger, but not after doing scissor motions with the two already inside him. “Fuck,” Paul breathed out heavily, and repeated it each time John thrust them. 

John smirked, “Such language for a teacher,” He said, started to thrust his fingers faster, creating an unsteady rhythm. Paul began to whimper and moan louder than ever.

“John- fuck- please slow down,” Paul

John replied, “Too much for you, eh? In that case, I'll just go faster.”

John followed his word and began to finger Paul harder and faster. Paul’s loud moaning was music to John’s ears, he’d kill to hear it more. If he could record it right then he would, but that probably went against some law. Unless he got Paul’s permission - he’d have to ask about that.

He carried on working him open until he deemed Paul ready, until the three fingers he’d been thrusting and twisting and crooking inside of him pulled out, slick with lube. He wiped them on Paul’s shirt with a smirk and poured the liquid onto his throbbing cock, instead; his smirk widened as the man below him whined pathetically, trying to push back and get his dick inside of him already.

“Eager little slut, aren’t you?”

All John got in response was another broken whine, “Okay, okay. Ready?”

Another broken whine.

John took that as a yes as he slowly sank to the hilt inside of Paul, eliciting a sob of relief from the man below him, a sound he wanted much more of; a sound of undeniable pleasure and desperation. He twitched inside of the tight heat that had enveloped him, tight and hot and fucking  _ delicious _ .

John’s hands gripped onto Paul’s hips but he did not yet move, afraid of hurting him; he was afraid he wouldn’t like it, especially after all the teasing and waiting but fuck, John felt good. Paul was clenching around him, then, and John didn’t know if he could hold for another moment.

He almost laughed with relief when Paul finally gritted out a small ‘you can move’, letting John fall into a slow pace, moving in and out cautiously, hoping to find the man’s prostate soon. And fuck, John thought, the noises he would make when he did-

“Hng- fuck- there, John, again,” Paul moaned breathily, knuckles turning white as he gripped the table tightly, pleasure absolutely coursing through him; he couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend; not with a dick in his arse.

John went for that spot again, the same angle at the same speed.  _ There,  _ John mused,  _ now he could really make him scream. _

He did scream; loud - so loud that eventually the auburn-haired man had to cover his mouth with his hand to muffle them from coming out so loudly. At which point, neither really cared if they were caught; the thought didn’t even  _ occur _ ; the almost overwhelming pleasure they were feeling was much more important.

The older carried on moaning and whining below him, head turned to the side and so John leaned over his trembling body, chest pressed to his back, and started leaving open-mouthed kisses and dark hickeys that would be there for days. He shifted beneath him, pushing back against his thrusts with strangled noises, enjoying it thoroughly and silently begging John to fuck him harder.

It was a good eight minutes later when Paul moaned out his name and gripped the desk impossibly tighter, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room still; he was  _ close,  _ already, which ultimately came as a surprise.

“You close, princess? Hm? Gonna come all on your desk like the naughty boy that you are?” John huskily spoke into Paul’s ear, sending shivers and shudders through him; John’s sweaty chest pressed against his back again as he did so, thrusts still vigorous and deep and  _ just about  _ enough to make the older want to cry out and do as said, answer completely truthfully.

He nodded and let out a long hum, a confirmation, and then spoke shakily, “Yes! I’m so-  _ fucking fuck-  _ close-” his breath hitched, “please let me-” His dick then pressed painfully against the desk, and he cried out, fairly loudly.

“Go on, Paul, come for me.”

That was it, Paul came all over his desk, some of it dripping onto the floor beneath him, and then he felt, with two final thrusts, John releasing deep inside him, filling him up, right to the brim with warm, sticky semen.

He pulled out. They were both panting, and Paul pulled up his boxers and then his trousers, whimpering quietly when he felt the come inside him start to drip out a bit.

John kissed his cheek, said something that the older couldn’t comprehend and then off he was, jeans zipped back up and everything.

What had John said? It sounded an awful lot like, ‘ _ we should do this again sometime, Macca,’  _ \- Paul found himself hoping this was true.


	2. Paul gets fucked AGAIN

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Lennon, but-”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

John clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, throwing Ringo a calculated, fleeting gaze as he knew he’d get annoyed if he looked on much longer, ultimately deciding to just fall down into his usual seat. He couldn’t get the events of yesterday out of his head, the way Paul had clenched around him greedily and moaned out his name like it were a gospel, always on the tip of his tongue; the way he’d fucking said it.

Desperate. Needy. 

And John willed the thoughts away before they got the better of him, realising that too much thinking would just lead to him getting a stiffy in the middle of class. Yes, it was only the start of class, but he’d plenty of time: plenty of time to think, to remember, to daydream (not a good idea).

Paul hadn’t showed up yet.

Him and that sweet fucking arse  of his.

Clenching. Moaning. Whining.

Fuck.

He didn’t process the otherwise annoying feeling of someone tapping his shoulder until he felt a sting on his cheek. He looked to his side in shock, ready to fucking ruin whoever did it, before he saw that it was, in fact, merely George, “‘ey, Johnny, what’re you thinking ‘bout then?”

John fought the urge to smirk and booped his nose, “None of your business, Harrison.”

He had the feeling that the younger didn’t believe him one ounce, but since he didn’t press it any further, John decided to take it upon himself, “Okay, so,” He leaned in a little, “You should have heard the way ‘e moaned my name. Like a fucking  angel,  mate. Believe me.”

“I don’t-”

“I know.”

And that was the end of a conversation. Not a potential one, mind, John had already had enough of his voice.

Paul walked in.

He just… walked in. Casually. Did he not remember what happened? John would be out of his bloody wits if he had to walk back into a classroom, as a teacher, after being shagged by a student. Out of his bloody wits!

Maybe John was dreaming. He wouldn’t put it past himself; perhaps he’d taken a few prellies that morning and completely forgot, which he did tend to do. 

He’d have known if he had taken prellies. It was out of the question.

Out of his bloody wits.

Maybe Macca was tougher than he’d previously believed.

Nah.

John laughed at his internal thoughts, humouring himself majorly; prellies? He wouldn’t have taken any. A tough Paul? Definitely not. The lad was probably internally having a go at himself for whatever reason,  dying  to have another go at John.

John was like prellies.

The simile went through John’s mind and made him frown, this time,  comparing himself to drugs?  Not something he’d think to be doing, but whatever, he guessed he would just have to deal with himself for the hour. Funny, that, when George was sat right next to him.

Drugs: addictive. John: not.  Paul probably just thought of him as a fleeting shag, hoping to never see him again.

“John? Can you answer this question? Unless you’re not present, since you didn’t even  respond in registration.”  Paul’s voice invaded his mind and for a second he couldn’t tell whether it was real Paul or the one in his mind, memories. Then, he looked up to see him, the real Macca, looking him dead in the eyes and pointing at the board.

John squinted, mentally cursing. He’d forgotten his  fucking  glasses. 

Not that he’d wear them anyway.

He squinted again before shrugging, the leather jacket around his shoulders suddenly feeling way too hot, “I don’t know, Macca, do you not know the answer yourself?” He couldn’t think coherently as soon as the words left his lips as Paul’s face reddened, and images of the day before filled his mind again; Paul’s face red and flushed as he drove his hard cock right into his prostate-

The class roared with full laughter, and a satisfied smirk found its way to the auburn-haired man’s face, the same smirk as-

Again, he mentally slapped himself.  Get yourself together, you probably look like a fucking physco, constantly dazing out.

“Of course I know the answer, Lennon. Obviously, you weren’t listening.”

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t listening. You caught me,” John shifted so he was slumping more in his seat, kicking both of his feet up to rest on the table, the same smirk plastered on his face, “My mind was… preoccupied.” 

Paul blushed. Visibly.

“See me after class.”

John blushed this time, keeping his gaze locked with the older man’s, but the contact was broken when Paul moved his elsewhere, and John fell back into the hazy daydream that had become his mind; no stopping it now, huh?

“Why-? So you two can shag or something like a bunch of queers?” A voice bellowed from behind them,  of course  the annoying voice belonged to the cockroach of a person  Pete Best.  John remembered when the two were friends, then John stopped giving him prellies; that was the end.

“Pete, that’s not very appropriate.” Paul reluctantly replied, a slight tremor present in his voice; this just proved Pete’s point more.

“Who fucking cares? It’s true.” 

John turned around quickly, visibly angry, “Pete, shut the fuck up, you stupid cunt!” 

“Oh yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do about it?” 

Pete quickly arose from his chair and started approaching John, his face red with barely-suppressed anger as he arrived right in front of him, already up in the auburn-haired man’s face.

As expected, the class had resolved to a chanting of ‘fight’, a continuous stream of a beg for entertainment in their last lesson of the day, a beg for something  interesting;  John felt completely and utterly tempted, and so did Pete, and the two knew it.

They didn’t fight, much to the dismay of the other students. Pete took a glance at Paul, who had a worried expression on his pretty face, and let a deep growl escape from his throat. “I won’t stoop down to your level, Lennon. I won’t fight a fucking  girl.  A  queer.”

“And that, my love, is called internalised homophobia towards oneself. You’re the queer, I think.”

John was surprised when Pete didn’t say anything more, and sat down in his seat, a scowl etched into his face. Paul felt relieve flood over him as the situation diffused itself.

“Now, if that’s over and done with, let's carry on with today’s lesson” Paul’s almost angelic voice pierced the tense silence that had fallen upon the classroom like a heavy, prickly, uncomfortable blanket, or rather something else, and everything had become normal again. Well, as normal as it could become.

John didn’t really pay that much attention to the lecture, he was wondering what was happening after the class would go empty, and only the two of them would remain.

After the soothing voice of Paul announced that the lesson had ended and that they could go home, everyone apart from John, Ringo, George and, unsurprisingly, Paul, who was quietly packing his stuff, left in a hurry to go hang out with friends or just go home to the familiarity of a bedroom.

“You gonna shag ‘im again, mate? I don’t even believe you did it the first time,” Ringo jokingly whispered to John.

“Hm... I’ll have to think about it,” John playfully responded back.

“Okay, you two, time to go home. You can talk later.” Paul said, interrupting their conversation, rather abruptly, as they found it.

Ringo and George quickly said goodbye and left the classroom. Now John and Paul were  alone,  in many senses of the word, though perhaps they weren’t; they had no idea, really.

“John, sit down please,” Paul asked. 

John took a nearby seat and moved it to Paul’s desk, and sat down.

“I wasn’t that impressed with your actions today, no matter how justified they were,” Paul advised. “I could be some form of stress relief, if you wish,” Paul had blushed as soon as he said this before freezing after realising what he had just said.

A smile creeped onto John’s face, “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer,” John teased, and stood up, both his fingers under Paul’s chin to lift his face, their gazes locking intensely.

Paul’s eyes flittered from John’s eyes and his lips before he confidently pushed their lips together, the kiss being gentle and slow, caring: not the kind of kiss you’d share before shagging someone, but neither of them gave a fuck. 

Their lips moved in sync, a beautiful combination of passionate and slow; the contrast making the two moan softly against the other’s lips.

“I’m already stretched, John,” The raven-haired man muttered against his lips, a blush coating his cheeks

“Then I guess i’m going to have to be more rough,” The younger muttered. Paul’s face then turned a completely new shade of red. 

-

Ringo’s mouth hung wide open as he stood up on his tip-toes in front of the door, looking through the small window on the classroom’s door with large eyes. He hadn’t believed John when he’d told him about what had happened, but seeing Paul, their teacher, completely succumbing, becoming so submissive for John as they kissed.

He should have believed him. 

The window was large enough for George to also look in through, their cheeks pressed together as they both attempted to get a good look. Neither could hear what they were saying, but they knew if it went further, they would, anything louder would travel through the door.

“Gear,” George whispered, getting ready for a show.

“Yeah. Gear. Totally-fucking-gear.”

-

Then before Paul could object or agree, John pushed Paul against the wall and started to undress them both, quickly and in a rush, their clothes sank to the floor, soon. 

The younger started to rub Paul’s leaking cock, making him shiver with anticipation and desperation. He grabbed the lube and applied some of it to his own cock before grabbing the backs of Paul’s thighs, hiking them up and around his waist, the smooth skin against his feeling  brilliant,  “Ready, love?”

“Yes,” Paul muttered, Paul had never been so ready in his entire life.

John then slid his cock into Paul’s gaping, ready hole. 

Paul mewled quietly in pleasure at the sensation, his fingers, before school had started, hadn't been enough: this was perfect. 

“I’m not even halfway in, princess,” John teased.

The two began to once again lock their lips together in a passionate embrace as John slowly lowered Paul onto his hard cock, his moans being muffled by the younger’s mouth once again. 

When they pulled apart, John stilled for a moment, allowing the older time to adjust; once he had he made it pretty clear, "John,  please  move." 

-

"Oh shit," George whispered in amazement, the sight before him being absolutely gorgeous. 

John had the most beautiful person they'd ever seen's  thighs  around his waist and tight arse around his cock, and he couldn't help visualising what yesterday's events looked like. 

Paul bending over his own desk, gripping until his knuckles turned white, pushing back against John's cock, moaning out his name-

"Rich, I- this is turning me on."

"Y-yeah, me too, I want to fuck him."

Ringo's face was red and he was tipping back and forth on his toes, probably getting tired of standing up like that but not wanting to stop because  fuck  it was  hot. 

-

"Okay, princess, hold on," John shifted inside of Paul to tease him but moaned himself, the tightness around him, the  heat  around him driving him fucking insane. 

The hard wall was cold against his back but John's body against his was hot, and he shivered again, his thighs trembling harshly. 

His hands went to John's shoulders and he gripped on tight, holding onto him as if John would just  let him fall,  the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue constantly,  needing  more. 

Slowly, the younger began to move his hips, gradually getting faster and harder with each movement; his hands travelled to Paul’s thighs and he spread them once again, pushing him harder against the wall. “You’re so strong,” Paul whimpered as he was held against the wall, John’s hands harsh on his thighs.

“Princess, moan my name,” John’s hands were leaving prints and marks on Paul’s skin, and the older did as he was told when John’s lips latched onto his neck, sucking softly.

Marking him.

-

“I can’t believe we didn’t believe him,” George and Ringo turned to see none other than Bob Dylan stood behind them, trying to get a good look himself. George grinned softly and shifted to the side, allowing all three of them space to look through the small window.

They could see John stood facing the wall, hands on Paul’s thighs as he held him against the wall, and the older was moaning his name, head tipped back against the wall in pleasure; it was a sight they never wanted to stop looking at. Their mate, John Lennon, the cocky bad boy, fucking a gorgeous teacher: they were all left to wonder how this came to be.

“How does one… suggest this to a teacher, anyway?”

“John’s pretty straight forward, probably just asked to fuck.”

-

“John,  John , please, harder,” Paul clenched around him, trying to encourage him more, and it seemed to work evidently well when John growled against his neck and thrusted up sharply, hitting his prostate dead on.

With every thrust, the raven-haired man was getting closer, mewling and almost screaming because of how  good  he felt, the throbbing cock deep inside of him pulsing rhythmically, and Paul couldn't help but focus his attention on his hands, instead. 

The way they were gripping the soft flesh of his thighs, holding them against the wall as he fucked him against it like he weighed  nothing , like John was so strong,  and then they gripped harder, and the younger's cock hit his prostate again, and he was coming up on his stomach and chest like a whore,  screaming John's name as he did so-

John bit into his neck to silence his own sounds as he also came, inside of Paul, filling him up positively well; the sensation was as good as ever, and he couldn't help but hope this wouldn't be the last time they did this. 

-

Bob gaped and his eyes widened at the scream that escaped Paul's lips, never before hearing such a beautiful sound, something caused by such an  overflow  of pleasure; John could really fuck good, huh? 

Paul, to the three onlookers, looked like he was about to either collapse and then fall asleep, based on the tired look that made its way to his pretty face, or push John down and ride him, based on his fucked out look. 

They imagined how tight Paul would be around their cocks, the noises he would make. 

Fuck, it sounded  hot . 

-

"No."

" What- ?"

"You let  John fuck you, but not us? Why? How?  What ?" 

-

"Apologies for not believing you, Lennon." 

"How do you even know I was telling the truth?" 

"We kinda saw you, fucking him, against the wall."

"Oh, so you missed the many times I fucked him since then?" 

" WHAT?" 

-

Their normal teacher quit his job, suddenly, so the school were looking for a new teacher to take his place as they were short on staff. Paul, gladly, stepped in and took the job. 

John and Paul fucked again, and again, and again, and again.

-

"Oh fuck, John, keep doing that," Paul's face was red as he begged, rocking his hips down against John's tongue, which was inside his hole, lapping greedily. 

The younger hummed against him and grabbed onto his hips, grinding his tongue in further and harder, giving Paul more stimulation; he loved the noises he could elicit from the older man, especially just from his tongue. 

He pushed it as deep as he could go, and soon, alongside his tongue, he had shoved two fingers inside of Paul's hole, stretching him open further to allow more access. 

The raven-haired man's thighs shook as he attempted not to clench them around John's head, and when he almost did, John pulled away from him and grabbed them, spreading them and keeping  them apart. His voice was deep and dominant, "Acting like a bird, Macca," He smirked and kissed Paul's inner thigh, "Close your thighs one more time and I punish you."

His tongue delved back in instantly.

-

Paul's arms were tied behind his back and he was kneeling on the floor of his home, John stood in front of him with his dick out, hard. He was facing him, dick eye-level with him, too, and Paul resisted the urge to lean forward and take him in his mouth. John had told him not to touch him without permission, and he wasn't about to break a rule. 

"Good boy, now, I'm going to fuck your throat and you're going to let me use you as I please, hmm?" 

"Yes, o-okay."

-

"Fucking queer!" Pete Best whispered to John during lesson one day, and instead of replying in angry tones or making a sarcastic comment, John just smiled softly and shrugged. 

"Yeah," He drummed his fingers on the table, "That's true."

"Hey John?" Came Pete's reply, much more laid back and calm than usual, as his usual was talking loudly in accusing tones, but this one was soft and genuine, and for once John wanted him to keep talking.

Pete was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat, "Me too."

John beamed and gave him a look that showed he was proud of him, hands going together in a soft clap, "I know, but it's nice to hear you admit it."

-

Paul was glad he decided to take the opportunity to teach a class of asshole young-adults in a stupid college class; it had been probably one of the best decisions he'd ever made. 

For once, he wasn't lonely. 


End file.
